


Would You Run Away With Me?

by Liv_Hates_Olives



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arya and Gendry screw off to the Riverlands for some reason or other, F/M, I guess this is a, Instead of going west of Westeros, Introspection, Kind of ambiguous and kind of happy, Light Angst, Oh my god how and why did I write a songfic, Post-Canon, Songfic, happy-ish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27049348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liv_Hates_Olives/pseuds/Liv_Hates_Olives
Summary: When she stares at the ceiling at night, she wonders what happened to that girl who brought her lord father purple and yellow flowers with a wide smile on her face. As she walks through the grounds of Winterfell now, the air is cold and the land is barren, save for the thorns on the wood remaining when the leaves and vines have died out.So she heads down to the forge instead, where Gendry is at work and the nearest anvil has a grain sack settled on top of it just for her.ORA little "Call it What You Want" Gendrya drabble where they go back on the road together and Arya reflects on everything that's happened and maybe everything is still a little sad, but maybe everything is also a little closer to being right.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 16
Kudos: 54





	Would You Run Away With Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightninginabottle0613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightninginabottle0613/gifts).



> Because you've always said you desperately wanted a Gendrya "Call It What You Want" based fic, so it would feel like a crime not to!
> 
> It's been a minute! I haven't written in literal months, this came out of my Taylor Swift spiral sending a strike of inspiration from her acoustic "Call It What You Want", but I'm not complaining! I wrote all this down in like two hours and I'm just doing this before I chicken out!

_My castle crumbled overnight_

She still remembers the way the Red Keep crumbled to the ground, the way the towering city fell to ashes.

She still remembers the smell of the burning bodies in Winterfell, how they crawled out of her childhood hiding places she once knew so well, the blistering snow of the blizzard mixing with spilled blood.

_I brought a knife to a gunfight_

She still remembers her gasps for air running from the Waif, still feels the ghost of the searing pain flowing from her stomach.

_They took the crown but it’s alright_

The wretched game they were all playing had never appealed to her much, the idea of the siblings she’d grown up with bearing the weight of a crown on their heads had never brought her ease.

But seeing their faces again, in all their realness, their smiles and habits and voices existing beyond faded memory, it brought her more happiness than she’d felt in a long time.

_All the liars are calling me one_

She still remembers all of the faces she’d met in Braavos, all of the different lives and identities and facades, still remembers the way they’d tried to convince her she was no one too.

_Nobody’s heard from me for months_

She still remembers the moment Yoren chopped off her hair, the moment Arya Stark truly started to disappear.

_I’m doing better than I ever was_

She still remembers the moment she said those three words after so long, the moment some small part of her pushed deep down broke through her surface, if only for an instant: “I’m Arya Stark.”

_All my flowers grew back as thorns, windows boarded up after the storm_

When she stares at the ceiling at night, she wonders what happened to that girl who brought her lord father purple and yellow flowers with a wide smile on her face. As she walks through the grounds of Winterfell now, the air is cold and the land is barren, save for the thorns on the wood remaining when the leaves and vines have died out.

_He built a fire just to keep me warm_

So she heads down to the forge instead, where Gendry is at work and the nearest anvil has a grain sack settled on top of it just for her.

_All the drama queens taking swings_

Watching Sansa and Daenerys’ cold stares as they debated over thrones and kingdoms reminded her far too much of the Queen Cersei she’d first met, petty and cool.

_All the jokers dressing up as kings_

Even back in the Riverlands, it had never sat right with her; all the talk from commanders and highborns about birthrights and armies, fighting over who ruled the people of the Seven Kingdoms when the people of the Seven Kingdoms were starving and dying in battle and preparing for winter.

What right did they have? Joffrey, with his twisted smile and gleam in his eyes, Stannis’s iron fist and Red priestess, Renly and his puffed up outfits and crowns, Balon Greyjoy’s raids, what right did they have to any of it?

_They fade to nothing when I look at him_

In the end, perhaps none of them had been kings. Perhaps there hadn’t been a true king, whatever in Seven Hells that meant, for a long, long time.

But even then, amid all the fears and restless travel and false ends, she still walked side by side with Gendry, one foot in front of the other, and she still slept knowing he was never far away.

_And I know I make the same mistakes every time, bridges burn, I never learn, at least I did one thing right_

In her dreams, she still sees her father on the scaffold, Lommy’s head, Weasel’s sunken eyes, still can picture the last glimpse of the mainland she caught as she sailed away from Westeros. Her ears roar with screams and dragonfire, echoes of “no one” in a neverending chorus.

But then she turns on her side, and she’s in her bed, surrounded by the walls of Winterfell, Gendry snoring beside her, and the noise makes way, just for a moment, for other thoughts.

_Yeah, I did one thing right_

He wakes up after she does every morning, and the way he smiles and pulls her closer doesn’t stop the tumult in her mind, but it makes something in her chest fill up and warm a little.

_I’m laughing with my lover making forts under covers, trust him like a brother, yeah, I know I did one thing right_

When they set out on the Kingsroad together again, the first thing she does is quip that she hopes his riding skills are better now.

Gendry scowls. “Not all of us got a highborn education, m’lady.” The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Get off your high horse, why don’t you?”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re just scared you won’t be able to keep up.”

—

An hour in, she breaks their silence.

“You’ve gotten better.”

When Gendry looks at her, she’s holding in a laugh.

“You’re not funny, you know.”

"And you are?” she raises an eyebrow, smiling the faintest bit.

“We both know Hot Pie was the joker out of the three of us.”

She snorts.

As they trot away from Winterfell, there’s really only one word in her mind for what she’s feeling.

Family.

_Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night_

They decide against lighting a fire that night, in case it might attract wolves (Gendry’s worry) or other travellers (Arya’s worry), and go on night shifts. She decides to do the first night.

At around midnight, she feels a tap on her shoulder. It’s Gendry, sat up by her side.

“‘s my turn now, go to sleep.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t need to, I’m used to not sleeping.”

His gaze is steadfast. “Sleep.”

“I either stay awake anyways or have bad dreams, it’s not worth it.”

Gendry’s eyes bore into hers, and in the silvery moonlight she can still catch a hint of their blue. He pats the ground beside him for emphasis. “Sleep.”

And she might be stubborn, but so is he, so for once, she relents.

She sleeps.

_‘Cause my baby’s fit like a daydream, walking with his head down, I’m the one he’s walking to_

The first time Arya saw him in the procession leading Daenerys’ army to Winterfell, her mind flitted back to long buried memories of a boy snapping metal tongs at her face, of a forever scowling face, of sitting perched on an anvil watching him work. 

Hearing him say “took the long road, but…” made her want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him at the same time.

She went with a kiss.

_My baby’s fly like a jetstream, high above the whole scene, loves me like I’m brand new_

She’d never cared much for the trivial power games of lords and ladies, not when the rewards were so fickle and the consequences so fatal. 

Gendry understood her well on that matter, had understood her well for very long.

But the way they understood each other as they mapped each other’s bodies with their hands and mouths was new, though not unwelcome.

_So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to_

Arya wasn’t sure of much these days, and certainly not of who she was, it was unlikely she would be certain of what she and Gendry were now. 

They had been friends and companions, but the way they kissed felt like more.

They were now a lord and a lady, respectively, but the way they bore those titles felt like they weren’t.

They were on the road now as people of great import, their identities no longer truly hidden, but the way they lived felt like they were still outlaws.

The titles weren’t all that important, really. She was his and he was hers, and anything else beyond that wasn’t relevant.

_I want to wear his initial on a chain ‘round my neck, chain ‘round my neck_

She spends her watches polishing Needle sometimes, admiring the new hilt and longer blade Gendry had made out of the old steel, running over the thumb over his touchmark.

It feels right when she carries it at her side.

_Not because he owns me, because he really knows me, which is more than they can say_

They share a secret language, she thinks, in the way she shares her kills, in the way they wake the other up to switch night shifts, in the way they posture themselves when the tension of a fight is in the air (thankfully rare as that is these days), like they’re ready to pull out their weapons and fight back-to-back at any moment, without a word beforehand.

_I recall late November, holding my breath, slowly I said “you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?”_

When she’d first proposed they set out on the Kingsroad again, just the two of them together again, she was half-certain he would declare her insane. She still felt the echoes of her last appeal to him, the cadence of his voice in time with the pounding of her heart she wouldn’t let him see. 

He was offering a hand in marriage, the role of a lady; would he accept being a wandering nobody in the wild?

_“Yes”_

He did; and when she was riding with him at her side, her partner in hunting, night watches, and midnight conversations, she couldn’t imagine any other way of being.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this, it's greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it! If you'd like, you can go look at my tumblr at livhatesolives, for miscellaneous things that I think are cool (and a slow documentation of my Taylor Swift obsession/spiral)
> 
> If you're up to it, please comment! I would love to hear any and all of your thoughts on this, whether it's been an hour or a year since I posted this!


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